Attack of the Frankenhand

I was supposed to have surgery on my hand a few weeks ago to remove a cyst. A couple of days before I was set to have it cut out the damn thing disappeared. I called to cancel and the nurse said I should come in as scheduled because it was probably just hiding. Hiding? Like - a sneaky crawl back into my joint so we would be lulled into a false sense of security while it hatched an evil plan to take over the world hiding? Or - comfortable in it's little home and scared of being evicted hiding? The nurse wasn't sure so I said ok and kept my appointment. I showed up, got dressed in my tent-sized hospital gown (could they possibly make those things any uglier?), got my IV and a brilliant concoction of drugs and was all ready to get hacked on. Then the doctor decided not to go through with it because he said I probably burst it. Burst? Ack. And ewww.

Fast forward two weeks and the stupid cyst comes back. Clearly not burst, but seriously pissed and, based on the pain level, implementing stage one of it's take over the world plan. This last Tuesday I went through the whole gown, IV, drug scenario again. The upside is the doctor actually removed it this time.

Did I mention that Tuesday was my birthday? One of my brilliant, though slightly twisted friends, imformed me that it was the best present EVER because I got legal drugs. Now it is a full week later and I am finally able to type. I am also off my pain meds and have replaced that fun, floaty, druggy feeling with really uncomfortable stitches. Whee. And - because I love you all - I will share with you a picture of my Frankenhand...

It has been slow on the blogging front because of the dreaded Frankenhand. Not only is it the ugliest freakin' thing you've ever seen, but it made typing virtually impossible and more than a little painful any time I tried. Basically, I spent a week half asleep on the couch watching lots and lots of Ice Road Truckers and Axe Men. At one point I had a drug induced hallucination that I was hauling cut down trees down the ice road to a diamond mine to be processed in to 2x4s. I KNOW! Trippy! --- Fun....but trippy. --- Thank you History Channel. I have now pledged my undying devotion to you and your programming.

We also had a little plumbing issue in the last few days. The sink must have been sneaking some of my drugs because it suddenly decided that water? Should spray up rather than down. I think that if the sink had a voice it would have been shouting something along the lines of, "Fly be free! Shed those binds and spray in ALL directions because you can! You can! Believe in yourself and you can spray the ceiling! Just believe you little droplets!" And, oddly, the sink sounds surprisingly like Richard Simmons from his Sweatin' to the Oldies days.

That led to father/son sink fixing. Seriously? The two cutest plumbers on. the. planet. See?


They were so proud of themselves I had to pause Tougher in Alaska(damn you History Channel and your freakishly absorbing reality television with lots and lots of burly manly men!) to bake them brownies. You couldn't resist these faces either.



I must say for the record - it never ceases to amaze me what Eric is able to accomplish. We had been together for over two years and we were standing in the kitchen talking about something that I totally forgot by now and he calmly picked up three oranges and started juggling. JUGGLING! Blew my freakin' mind. Add to that the fact that he is a freakin' electronics genius and can fix anything in the house that has electronic stuff in it and NOW I find out he can fix plumbing? Stand back ladies...he's mine and I won't go down without a fight.

He is for rent, however.

I could really use the extra cash.